


Reminders: Gaiden

by discocalypse



Series: Catquest Colon The Search For Love [3]
Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:17:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6669250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discocalypse/pseuds/discocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Havve Hogan loves cats. This has little to do with that. Dumb Idiot takes a crack at cheering up Paul Rudd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminders: Gaiden

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2.5 of a series! If you haven't read the previous parts, you may not understand this one very well! You can find the rest above.
> 
> This piece is a lot less humorous than the others, as well as a simple side story. It's not exactly required reading for the series at all, but I thought some of you might like to know what Doctor Sung and Lord Phobos were up to.

_Alea iacta est._

Or... something to that effect, he guessed.

Though no real 'army' had been set to siege Havve Hogan's domain, Meouch was the next best thing, wasn't he? Surely the man who'd survived centuries of space piracy would be able to take on one lone drummer. After all, his mortality was proven once -- When Sung had found him, Havve was dead.

The time-traveler had always been one of unwavering faith by way of his comrades. Where one of them may have failed in their task, the others were always able to lend a hand and get the job done. Though a dysfunctional group when broken down, group status made them functional. A leader, determined as he was and filled to the tip of his cone with hubris, often fell by culture-shock. To supplement him, a Commander. Streetwise through experience in the ways of thousands of worlds, his weakness found in lack of empathy. A Lord, empathetic and thoughtful enough to make up for his predecessor. Silenced with grief. To speak his share and more, the Machine lacked all else.  But that was where the circle looped. 

Feeling satisfied with himself, Doctor Sung's hands holstered at his hips. He cut through the network of corridors with a spring in his step. Convincing Commander Meouch was a simple task. Quick to accept instant gratification in any form, much to the dismay of the ship's crew, the next logical step had been denial. Had this 'Ivan Pavlov' chap had access to interplanetary travel in his years, perhaps the adage on classical conditioning might've had a more feline flair. Sung reveled in his victory as he'd rounded the corner of Lord Phobos' homestead. His cone crossed the frame far before the rest of his face.

"You home?" Blocks of light twinkled across his visor, forming into a question mark that cut the air before him. A pair of fingers pressed to the side of the Doctor's earpiece, activating the penlight at his ear. Sweeping the area before stepping inside the aphiotic chamber, Sung revised his search. He swept the usual areas Phobos might frequent in his down time.

His cryosleep chamber, empty.  
His collection of various colored bean bag chairs, empty.  
His desk, empty.  
The cradle of his instrument, empty.

Unwilling to invade his crew's privacy further, the alien took a step back into the hall with a sigh. Though Havve had begun as priority, it was Phobos' behavior that became increasingly disturbed. The majority of the moodiness exhibited from the cyborg had been par the course. Something Sung was confident he could handle on his own... Meouch's hesitant deliverance was more of a distraction than anything. Sung didn't want Havve thinking he'd given up should his attention refocus into a more urgent matter. Though he couldn't be there this evening, he'd wanted his presence to still be felt.

If there was one thing to gleaned of Phobos' mental state, it was that he was definitely in the mood to talk. Whenever Phobos had asked for silence, he'd left his sole means of communication behind. The fact the rocketeer's trusty axe had been at his side boded well for the direction of Sung's concerns. It wouldn't take much prying to be allowed into the other's space to attempt to talk around the issues... And it gave Sung an idea of exactly where to find him.

Past the cluster of storage spaces, the galley, the staterooms, bridge and the internal promenade, sat a single purpose elevator. It's destination and Doctor Sung's were one and the same -- The orlop deck. His sneakers clattered the grated metalas the gu ts of the Groove Station toiled and pounded away. It all scrolled away behind him as backdrop to his mission. What had once been the site of a planned brig, at the fo'c'sle, was the residence of Havve Hogan. Though he'd been offered board within the stateroom deck, Hogan had declined. He'd stated that he'd felt more at home in the underbelly of the beast... Sung could see it. The clattering of the machinations sounded akin to the Fun Rack the longer he listened... In fact, they'd almost seemed percussive. An accompaniment to the melody plucked out decadently from his left.

"The hell're you doing wedged in there?" Sung posed the question with a lilting smile. His vision transfixed on a glum-looking guitarist seated between a family of large vats. The rhythm paused as Phobos, knees to his chest, plucked a single string in greeting. "Didn't want Havve to see you, huh?"

Ventilation resounded in a sigh as Phobos nodded, elbows pressing downward for elevation. Shuffling through the field of mechanics, careful with his guitar as though an extension of his body, the Lord emerged. Standing chest to chest with his coxswain, his vision occupied with on the door in the distance. 

"Did The Commander have anything to say when he saw you there?" Sung hadn't attempted to draw Phobos' attention, stepping out of the way and behind him. Another bob of the helmet was granted as Phobos adjusted the weight in his arms. The curve of his instrument found it's way above the hip bone of his vessel. A temporary respite. 

Unable to inform Sung of Meouch's instruction to 'stop playing the same goddamn Genesis song. It's been fourteen goddamn hours, for Christ's sake', he'd decided to just leave the statement as it were. Instead, the guitarist shrunk into his shoulders a moment before motioning towards the door. Communication without words was difficult, but Phobos made an attempt in stubbornness. The cause was that way, in case it hadn't been painfully obvious.

It was worse than Sung had thought. Phobos had shrugged off every line of question about all else. Instead of attempting to humor his inquires, he was all in favor of talking about Havve. A wince enveloped him as he took Phobos by the forearm to wheel him around, redirecting his attention. When Phobos' body had turned, however, his neck swiveled to maintain contact with the door. From this angle, he could see that it was open, though neither man was visible through the corridor.

"We're all worried about him, you know."

This had caught the lanky alien, his head snapping to the front as his chin tilted to regard the shorter man. Didn't Sung think he knew that? What was he getting at?

"But we're worried about you, too, big guy. You doin' okay?"

His hands tensed, giving the neck and the butt of his guitar a squeeze. An action unnoticed until the sensation of metal chewing into his skin interrupted him. His only response had been an urgent gesture, again, towards that one open door. As if to say,  _this_  was more important.  _This_  is where you should be focused.

If... If anyone were acting strangely, it was definitely everyone else, right? Havve was obviously hurting, and Sung was asking about  _him_? Even Meouch had wanted to stay behind and put him on blast rather than get where he was going. It was a physical push from Phobos that had finally convinced the space pirate to move on. All Phobos had wanted was an end, and for things to return to how they'd been. It ate him alive to be ignored by Havve, yet it was all he'd wanted from anyone else. ...But now that Sung mentioned it, putting hands on anyone, even Commander Meouch, was outside his morals. All the sudden, he'd felt uncomfortable in his skin.

Lord Phobos shook his head 'no'.

"Hm," A soft, concerned hum of consideration parted Sung's lips. He hadn't expected the walls to come down this soon, and wanted to tread carefully. Should Phobos show vulnerability and regret it, Sung knew he'd never regain that trust. His motions would have to be calculated from now, and his words soft and meticulously chosen. Though his first instinct was a smile, he'd deemed it inappropriate. His lips twitched as words ricocheted around his brain and clawed for exit. In the mean time, a reassuring hand clamped itself over his friend's shoulder. "I... I really hate t'tear you away from the exciting conclusion of whatever the hell's going on over there, but I'm gonna need you to trust me for a minute."

A third nod, though slow and confused, was offered in response to the Doctor's request. Lifting the guitar and drawing it closer, Phobos was ready to follow with one last glance. It seemed Havve had taken perch on his rolling chair, his eyes trained upon the far corner of his ceiling. Suspending his curiosity, choice notes of Mariah Carey's 'Lead The Way' were given life from his fingertips.

Footfalls echoed through the air, given urgency and speed by direction. The levity of the situation had risen once more, tugging him along on a string. He'd known his actions were preset. After all, he had been back and forth from the course of events several times over the span of his lifetime. Through the timelines he'd succeeded, and through the timelines wherein he failed, keeping himself in the moment would be a task. He'd have to save face time and time again to ensure events unfolded as they were meant to. Phobos and the others were capable of dividing themselves between worlds as much as he was. Sure. But the fluidity of the experience was unique to the doctor.

Every second was a barrage of images, sequenced in an indecipherable order most times. The times he had done, had failed to do, and had tried were displayed at a constant on the backs of his eyelids. He'd played out this scenario thousands of times, accompanying Phobos to the main deck. Though he knew how it would end, in which directions the paths might diverge, the moment tensed his muscles still. Though this ebb and flow of time, circular as she'd always been, meant little in the long run to Sung... It had meant the world to the man beside him, and he would treat the moment with the respect that it so deserved. This alone was what had driven Sung's determination. Even through the worlds he'd let down.

The bridge was the fastest route towards the wing of the ship Sung's sights were set upon. As he'd brushed past his captain's chair, a tablet computer lifted from it's perch at the right arm. A few mindless taps to the keys hovering above the screen before it was traded off for Phobos' guitar. On his way past the other's workstation, he'd placed the item in the spare cradle near the seat. There was no fuss from the silent star man as his means of communications exchanged. The curiosity for Sung's odd behavior trumped all else.

"I know you don't like talking this way very much." Sung chortled, turning himself towards Phobos as his thumb jammed the keys of a security pad to his left. Unwilling to 'speak' just yet, the shoulder pads of Phobos rose and fell. He was unsure as he was hustled into a second lift he wasn't aware had even existed up to now. Several more buttons were made quick work of, followed by a ray of green light sweeping their bodies. Whatever it had been doing, it had seemed to rumble the metal walls to life with a tinny gasp. Groaning coils cried out as they'd begun to spin on their pulleys, driving the pair upwards.

**'?'**

The screen turned toward Sung now, displaying a single orange character projected in the air. In response, Sung raised a hand. They'd come so close to their destination now. A little more suspense wouldn't hurt anybody... And, plus, it made him feel like a big man. The cooler he looked, edges of his silhouette cutting space with a hand raised in command of silence, the more apt others would be to listen to him... Or... something. He hadn't quite smoothed out all the details.

Enough time passed between the gesture and the parting of the lift's doors to create an awkward situation. The Doctor had just stood there, fingers in Phobos' personal bubble. He believed he had some sort of control over the voice of a man who'd taken a solemn vow of silence centuries before. Ridiculous. Not usually one to lose his patience, the taller of the pair had begun to weigh his options. To leave, to endure, or to conk the eccentric captain over the top of his pylon with the tablet in his hand. A shuttering breath fanned out into a sigh, fogging the inside of his hardware's visor. This had, already, become such a long day.

Aisles upon rows of space debris and general trash had greeted the pair. Each item, pinned and hovering beneath a glass shell, looked more rubbish than the last. Below each suspended item, a fine wooden table with an engraved golden plate. The pride on Sung's face informed Phobos that this room was spectacular. That something here should be taking his breath away... But he'd as of yet been unable to find it. Perhaps a curt inspection of the room was needed, or a reading of the plaques? For Sung to bring him this far, he'd at least deserved some consideration. Sloping his shoulders, he slid past the shorter male. The Lord's curiosity gravitated him toward the first item of the museum-like chamber.

_Dropped Paperclip - Earth 497 - 1272485043 UTC_

Doing the math in his head, the Lord was quick to realize just how particular the unit of time measured had been. In Epoch time, nothing was lost. Every second was accounted for, and as prominent as every year had been within the line of numerals. There was something about this 'dropped paperclip', found on the 28 day in April of 2010 at 20:04:03 Greenwich mean time. Something about it that had held some sort of value. It was an ordinary enough article, a little bent out of shape and standard for human use at the time stamp given. But what was it doing on their ship? Such primitive technology had been phased out in their realm before it had even begun to see any use. From the planet of Phobos' origin, they'd created and mass-produced at least fifty improvements. Variations on both physical and digital documentation stacking protocols, all better than the last. Then distributed them across every cluster they could reach. But this clip was aboard the Groove Station. At a glance, he could tell it was unable to sustain its' own basic function any longer... And yet, here it was. Protected behind transparent polymorphic wurtzite alloy as if a precious treasure. The next item had to yield some answers. Phobos couldn't bare to torture himself any longer over this.

The more Phobos had poured over the materials, the less he'd understood. Anyone in his place may have lost patience with the grinning time-traveler. Watching every move they made, arms crossed and throat silent. The desire to become wise was enough distraction from the silent starman's previous hang-up. Phobos wanted to solve the mystery himself, thrill escalating with each displayed fragment. Broken bottles, scraps of paper with messy written notes, mobile phones, wallets... Though some of this had been useful to someone at some time, they'd been brought together. Across thousands of time-streams, preserved like legacies. Tributes to the multiple versions of Earth TWRP had been calling 'home' for the past nine sweeps of the sun. The rocketeer brandished his tablet close to his chest. His expert fingers crawled from key to key with fast precision.

**'Doctor Sung, this room appears to be a repository meant for exhibition of some sort. If this is the case, for what reason would you pour such care into it's presentation? Furthermore, judging by the UNIX time codes, it has existed in secrecy for quite some time now. Why have you been traveling across rifts? Only to collect these artifacts into one period in infinitude? Did you truly never intend to allow visitors passage, save for your own curation? Pardon my manners, but why myself, and why now?'**

As the burning orange characters haunted the air like a heavy weight, Sung came to motion. Striding gait navigated him to his point at the foot of a great iron casing. From floor to ceiling, erupting from the center of the room, it glinted in the florescent light. Lord Phobos had, in his opinion, safely assumed it to be the room's support beam. He would soon learn how wrong he was.

"Come over here." The usual, confident glimmer had left Doctor Sung's voice. The words had become gruff as their ranks and positions fell away. At this time, they were two men speaking as equals. Without question or hesitation, Lord Phobos obeyed. Down the aisles, he arrived to his companion's side. The cold steel beneath Sung's fingers bit through his skin, down to the bone. His vessel, like all of Earth's apex predator, was primitive in it's temperature sensitivity. As little as the room had seen use, heating it would be frivolous. He'd have to endure the discomfort just a bit longer. Until his point was made. "Lord Phobos! Take a gander, if you will, at the capsule to the right of you. I think you'll find something most righteous."

As instructed, the man at Doctor Sung's side turned face to due east. Knees bent, his eyes leveled with the item beneath the glass, peering with curiosity. It had appeared to be... a piece of chrome material ended with a bulb? Glossy and shell like, it reacted under the flood of lights above him in a way that was all too familiar. Through the tint of his visor, he spotted the etchings on the name card.

_Fractured Cone Mounted Scintillator MK II- Hectrocrumulon 14 C-67 - -30221671626 UTC_

That was... Sung's helmet penlight's scientific name, wasn't it? Why would Sung keep around such outdated hardware... Let alone a version that had been broken since 1012? He and Sung had recently developed a Mark VI in the same line of electronic for his use together. Such sentimentality for useless tech escaped Phobos as he mimed a scratch to the top of his helmet. As the Lord began to type away, Sung unzipped the pouch at his leg.

**'This is to be the most excellent of your display? I mean you no disrespect, but this is the least pragmatic object of your expansive agglomeration.'**

"It also happens to be the oldest, I'm sure you've noticed." The smarmy expression of the Doctor's lower features tested Phobos. A curt nod in response. Of course he had noticed. All the while, Sung hadn't granted him more attention than needed to read the text between them. His full focus was on removing an object from his inventory. A single, impatient tap of the toe escaped Phobos. He'd stopped himself before they could persist, embarrassed of his own actions. No wonder his friends had become so concerned with his well-being. "But, as I'm sure you've guessed... That's not the end of it. No siree bob."

To create way for his search, Sung removed and discarded his nunchakku over his shoulder. A flick of the wrist, and the left end flopped into the small of his back, leaving him both hands free. A noise of delight low in his throat as his palm gripped the item he'd searched for, and tucked aside another. His attention returned to the pillar before him, pressing the item into it's surface. His fingers pressed over the union with force, taking great care to ensure the item stayed stuck. As Sung retracted himself from the obelisk, it roared to life with the sound of steam and grinding cogs. Lackadaisical creaking as panels began to loosen from each other. The first time in thousands of light-years.

"That, my friend, is the first thing Havve ever returned to me." Sung's expression softened as he monitored the stirring metal. Through his peripheral vision, he could see Lord Phobos straighten to attention. Edging closer, his interest torn between the words, implications, and the strange device's revival. He'd begun to type upon his console once more, halted his companion's next explanation. "Ever since I picked the big guy up, things have... Obviously been a struggle-bus. I've been around him a lot longer than the rest of TWRP--Picked him up on 'Crom Fourteen long before I came forward in time. You know, to save you and Commander Meouch from each other... From yourselves. N'order to explore every avenue of time, I have to live through it at least once initially. Throughout several singularities, I stayed with Havve Hogan for a considerable length. In a lot of those singularities, he killed me. Through a few, I became familiar with more and more ways to deal with him. Finally, on my last pass-through... I'd perfected my strategies and plaited the strands. I was finally able to successfully convince him to join our noble cause. Despite his, you know, less than noble sensibilities. I couldn't give up on the dude. That's not in my nature."

**'I'd been wondering how that had come to be.'**

Enthralled with the tale, Phobos' comments were few. Palpable awe radiated from his body language, drawing Sung to point his chin his way with a grimace. He took a deep sigh, continuing his thought.

"So, to attempt to show him some semblance of normalcy--Some way to emulate a proper friendship, I'd started to give him some stuff. Just small things, here and there, that spoke of the time we'd been sharing. A photograph of the two of us... An offering he might have found some sort of joy in... Craft supplies so he could pursue a few hobbies until one stuck. Just small things, tryin' to keep it productive. In the beginning, he'd just throw 'em away or paid 'em no mind... I'd give him the business when I'd find one. Just really give him shit about it, try to give it back, whatever. But I really think I got through. Eventually, by... Sifting through his trash from time to time, I realized he'd begun to keep a few. Not many, just bigger things. To test my theory, I gifted him the original accessories to an item that had been crucial to his survival. Following him, I watched him deposit it into a box with a few other trinkets I could recognize. And that's when I realized it."

**'That Havve Hogan had begun to learn significance, in some form or other.'**

"Exactly."

The pair fell silent a moment. Their attentions turned to the collection of screens beginning to materialize from their entombment. 

**'The items had begun to resonate, though maybe not in the intended form... Whether it had been of obligation to you, or avoidance of hassle, they had begun to take on a meaning within him. But that still does not explain the purpose of this chamber, Doctor Sung.'**

"So you haven't connected the dots yet? Havve isn't just some butter-passing automaton, Lord Phobos. He's quite intelligent."

**'... I believe I see now. He'd realize the significance you'd placed upon certain objects within his care. Havve began to emulate the gesture.'**

"Albeit imperfectly, correct. Explains all the junk, doesn't it?"

**'Why, yes. I suppose it does.'**  A strangled laugh hissed beneath Phobos' respirator. It had been so obvious from the start of the conversation... Doctor Sung had kept every last thing. He'd valued every single attempt Havve had made at emulating sentimentality. Beginning to laugh along with Phobos, Sung moved to the front of the penlight's display and knelt to gaze at it.

"He didn't quite get what it was that made the items I gave him so special, so for his purposes, any item would have done. And he was right. All of these things showed that he'd been thinking of me, and considering of my gestures. Though I couldn't do the impossible and change him, I taught him the value of friendship in some shape or form. This is all proof of that."

**'This object we're focusing on... Was the first he'd given you, correct?'**

"Oh, big time. I'd done some stupid thing to piss him off, and he lunged at me and broke this off my helmet. A few hours later, after he'd cooled down as much as he could, he put it into my hand and stormed off. Didn't see him for a few days after that. I think it was the closest thing to 'sorry' he's ever felt."

**'Fascinating indeed. If you don't mind, I do have one further inquiry, apart from the obvious.'**

"Shoot. We still have a second before the screens come online." Moving to the work station that had emerged from the center of the room, Sung stated his credentials by hand.

**'My previous question remains unfulfilled. Earth 497, Earth 393, Earth 092, and beyond. They all exist between vastly different singularities. Do you mean to say that you have been passing between the multiverse every time a Havve from a different dimension handed you so much as a soda bottle? We both know such wanton time-travel is dangerous, to an unfathomable degree. Your vessel might not be able to withstand crossing more than a certain limit of time streams. Your consciousness could be lost to infinitude at any moment. Does this truly mean so much to you?'**

"Of course it does," There was no hesitation in Doctor Sung's words. "Havve Hogan is my friend."

Buzzing to life, the bank of monitors each displayed a different angle of the Groove Station. A few quick strokes of the keyboard, and Sung expanded the live feed of Hogan's domicile to every screen. Before the camera, the cyborg stood, chest heaving. His hands gripped into fists, he observed the destruction of his surroundings. On the other side of the lense, the two had done the same. A sick feeling burned at the bottom of Lord Phobos' stomach. Where was Commander Meouch? Had Havve--No, he couldn't have. Doctor Sung was looking on with far too wide of a grin. He'd realized this wasn't the first time Sung had observed this possibility. From the corner of his eye, he caught the cyborg's movements and snapped back to attention. On screen, Hogan had moved to remove something from the rubble, taking a seat with it upon the floor.

"Lately, Havve hasn't just been keeping the things I've given to him." Keys clattered beneath Sung's voice, cropping their projection close into the box. A number of items had stuck out to Lord Phobos, but only one was recognized. A bright red guitar pick, which Phobos had thought he'd thrown away ages ago. As soon as he'd begun to finger pick, it's use had become obsolete... But here it was, among the items that his friend had come to covet. As things were pushed aside for viewing, soon a photograph in the midst was fully visible... He, Havve and Chald. A sight he'd cherished himself. Clamping a hand over Sung's shoulder and giving him a jovial shake, a hiss of air left his hardware once more. A sigh of relief.

"Feeling a little better now, buddy?"

Phobos nodded, sliding his hand to his side, and vacating the area. He'd decided not to disturb Sung's sanctuary any longer. He'd imposed enough.

Shutting down the supercomputer had been as simple as starting it. Plucking the access node from it's plug, Doc Sung took a step away from his security system. Rattling to a close, as slow as it had opened, he was glad it had only needed to see such benign use. His attention moved to the key in his hand as he tucked it away in the pouch at his side. He swapped itfor the item he'd previously brushed aside.

Though most of his secrets were aired to Lord Phobos today, this was one he'd desired to keep to himself. He felt sharing it may have cheapened the meaning in his heart.

A polaroid photo of he and his band mates, as happy as they ever were. Together. Over the white stripe riding the bottom of the photo, a simple message.

_PROUD TO BE YOUR FRIEND._


End file.
